


it's like the first time

by orphan_account



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, Tumblr drabbles, definitely not entirely inspired by taylor swift lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-03-30 18:48:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3947746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>bitty and jack. kissing!!!  [spins wheel]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. [spins wheel] in front of pizza hut

**Author's Note:**

> for breadly, who endures the potholes of rhode island but makes cute friendship bracelets in coffee shops.
> 
> unbeta'd, and rebloggable [here](http://bittyjack.tumblr.com/tagged/spin-wheel-prompts).

Jack's been in Rhode Island for all of six weeks before he caves, texts Bittle to ask _how long until you’re planning to be back at samwell_

Bittle texts back about an hour later, when Jack is with his new trainer, a dude named Keenan who actually scares the living hell out of Jack. Once Jack’s done with his shower and is walking out of Brown stadium to his car that he reads Bittle’s reply of _flight’s for next thursday :)_

Jack thinks about replying, and instead hits the small phone button in the corner of his screen, selects voice call, and waits. It rings three times before Bittle answers. His “hello?” is breathy.

“Hey,” Jack says. “Sorry, are you busy?”

“No, no,” he says. “Was just running, what’s up?”

“I can call back later.”

“Don’t be silly, I’m--it’s nice to hear from you.”

Jack smiles, and lets himself into his car. He turns on the engine long enough to roll down the windows, and then turns it off again, leaning back against the headrest.

“That’s actually--I wanted to ask you something. And say no, if it’s weird or you don’t want to or whatever, okay?”

There’s a slight pause before Bittle says, “Okay... is everything alright?”

“Yeah, yes. Everything’s good. I’m just. It’s a bit lonely here, most of the team isn’t in town yet and I--I was wondering if...if I paid for your flight, would you wanna come hang out for a few days or something?”

“I--” Bitty says, hesitates. “That would be fun, I’ve never been to Rhode Island. You don’t have to--”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I have more money than I need. Plus, it’s not like it’s glamourous. Basically all Providence has to offer is pot holes and cute coffee shops.”

“I...are you sure? I don’t really have to be back at Samwell until the beginning of the month, but I wanted to get everything settled before anyone was trying to move in.”

“You can stay as long as you want, come whenever. Let me know what works for you, then we can book the flights together over the phone.”

“That’s--thank you, Jack.”

“No, thank you, honestly. How’s your week been, other than running?”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

Bittle flies in the Wednesday morning. He’s mailed all his boxes to campus security--a trick that Shitty has taught anyone who will listen, like a family secret passed down the Haus bloodline. Jack picks him up at the airport, and shoulder’s Bittle duffle bag as he gesticulates while telling Jack about the security guard at Atlanta International. He throws Bittle’s bag into the back of his midsize, and hops into the car. When he turns on the car, Bittle rolls down the window, and then turns to face Jack. “So what’s the plan?”

“There are some museums and parks, a zoo. The city website suggested bonfires. There are some well-reviewed restaurants, too. Honestly I haven’t done much, but if you’re up for it, I was hoping to catch a baseball game at some point?”

“All sounds great to me. I--can i see your place, first? Maybe shower? I’m all plane-y.”

Jack nods, and turns out of the airport parking lot.

  
  
  
  
  


 

 

Jack still hasn’t entirely unpacked all his stuff, but his furniture is all built, which means his condo is in a better state than it was when he’d first called Bittle last week. If he only took the empty IKEA boxes out to the recycling this morning...well, there’s no way for Bittle to know that, either way.

“There are still some boxes laying around,” he says as he unlocks the front door. “Sorry.”

“It’s all fine,” Bittle says, toeing off his shoes as Jack closes the door after him, dropping Bittle’s bag by the door.

“Kitchen’s this way,” Jack says, and ushers Bittle out of the foyer with a hand on his back.

“Ah, the way to my heart,” Bittle laughs, and Jack feels his cheeks heat. “Oh, wow.”

The kitchen has an island, granite countertops. Jack’s mom had given him a knowing look when they’d been shopping at Target and Jack had suggested the KitchenAid, but the smile on Bittle’s face when he sees it tucked next to the toaster is worth it, a thousand times over.

  
  
  
  


 

 

They end up eating a light lunch at Jack’s apartment--sandwiches with avocados and leftover chicken that Jack had barbecued the night before--before heading out to tour the main streets of Providence.

They drive from Jack’s condo into the busier part of the city, and Jack pulls into a parking spot outside the best coffee shop he’s found s far. “They’ve got the best iced coffee,” he says, as leads Bittle inside.

After they’ve got their drinks, Jack says, “let’s go left,” before leading them towards Water Street to walk along the river. “This is as new to me as it is to you,” Jack says. “I’m not going to be a very good guide.”

“What’ve you been up to since you got here? Please don’t say just hockey.”

“I--” Jack hesitates, and Bittle laughs. Jack huffs, indignant. “I spent a lot of time shopping with my mom, installing the tv with my dad.”

“So you’ve had no fun at all. No wonder you called me,” Bitty says, knocking his shoulder into Jack’s as they walk.

They stop a few times along the boardwalk so that Bittle can take some photos for twitter, and Jack snaps a few, wishing he’d thought to bring his camera. Bittle gets someone who looks like they’re also a tourist to take their photo when they get closer to the river; Bittle asks the mother of a young family if she’d be willing to take a couple shots, and she says, “Of course, dear,” and so they take two with Jack’s arm around Bittle’s shoulder, Bittle’s arm around Jack’s waist, smiling for a the camera, and the Bittle asks, “can we do a funny one?”

“Sure,” the woman nods, and so Jack make bunny ears behind Bittle’s head, crossing his eyes and sticking out his tongue, and Bittle makes a kissy face and a peace sign with his fingers. The young woman hands back Bittle’s phone with a soft laugh, and they say their thank yous and goodbyes.

It’s not until Jack starts to notice the chill in the air that he suggests heading back to the car. They talk about where they should find dinner, Bittle looking up restaurants on his phone as they walk back the way they came.

Jack guesses that they’re about five minutes away from the car when he notices how much calmer he feels. He hadn’t realized he’d been feeling on edge since his parents had left Providence, maybe since before then, until he noticed the absence of anxiety. He’s felt, in the six hours since he picked Bittle up from the airport, more settled than he has since leaving Samwell. He hasn’t done much in terms of getting to know the city that’s going to be his home for the foreseeable future, and he hadn’t known that he was avoiding it until it hits him. He’s always been a private person, quiet but slow to settle, has been on the losing end of slightly anxious since he was a little kid. And yet, today, he feels cozy and warm, like letting go of a weight he hadn’t known he’d been carrying--and how much of the chip on Jack’s shoulder, how much of that weight has never been his to carry, at least not his to carry alone?

“I’m happy you’re here,” Jack says, interrupting Bittle’s Yelp search.

Bittle looks over a Jack, his sunglasses perched in his hair, his freckles more prominent than normal. “I’m happy I’m here too,” he says, and his hand reaches out to settle on Jack’s back. They walk about a block in silence before Bittle stops walking says, “How do you feel about seafood? There’s a place a few blocks this way--” he stands in front of Jack and points up towards Main Street, away from the river. “Or there’s a fusion place ten blocks up that’s got good re--”

Bittle’s stream is interrupted when Jack presses his lips against Bittle’s mouth, the softest thing he’s ever done. It’s not until Bittle shifts, like his brain is catching up with the rest of reality, and kisses Jack back that Jack’s hand comes to rest on Bittle’s shoulder.

Jack pulls back, blushing, and says, “Whatever you want.”

Bittle smiles, pink high on his cheeks and says, “Being here is special enough and--” he turns around, looks at the Pizza Hut behind them and says, “we could always order in and uhm, go back to your place.”


	2. [spins wheel] on graduation day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is not very good and also it's unbeta'd because i almost cried at work after bitty's tweets today and my whole life is a disaster.
> 
> [sobs _this boy_ ]

  


 

 

 

 

 

Imagine the sun; imagine everyone smiling like it's the first time; imagine the smell of sunscreen in the air, the first mass application of spf 15 and up of the season; imagine.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

“Spring has sprung,” Shitty says. “Bits, make sure there’s no streaks on my face.”

 

“Sure,” Bitty says, and steps up onto his tip toes to rub the sunscreen into Shitty’s skin. Shitty squeezes him tight, after, and Bitty squeezes back. “Christ,” he says, and he feels Shitty nod.

 

“Can say that again,” Shitty says, and pats Bittle’s forehead.

 

Bitty smiles, but it feels forced, more of a sad twitch of his lips than anything happy. “Christ,” he says, again, and a laugh forces its way out of him when Shitty chuckles.

 

“Lunch, brother, let’s get goin’.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

Jack sits pressed into Bittle’s side. Shitty’s arm finds its way around Lardo’s shoulders. Everyone is caught up in a story Shitty is telling about the first time Ransom and Holster met, and Jack leans into Bittle’s space while he picks at his salad and whispers into Bitty’s ear to says, “Eat your lunch. Everything’ll be fine.”

 

He squeezes Bittle’s knee, leaves his hand there, and Bitty nods, and leans into Jack’s side.

 

Just a bit.

  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

Bob Zimmermann joins Bittle as he watches Jack and Shitty smack each other over a t-shirt that they’ve somehow been sharing since they were in freshman year, despite their differing builds. It’s the last thing to be packed away, their rooms are empty save for Dex and Nursey’s boxes, shoved into corners, and everyone knows that their fake wrestling has nothing to do with a shirt.

 

“They’re going to miss you,” Bob says, and Bittle startles.

 

“Don’t know what I’m going to do without them, honestly.”

 

Bob looks away from Jack, turns to look at Bittle’s profile. “I think they have both needed you more than you have ever needed them. Jack definitely.”

 

Bitty smiles, “We’re a team, or. We were. It’s not hard to stick together when everyone needs someone else’s help.”

 

“Just because they’re doing different things doesn’t mean Jack still isn’t going to need you like a deserted man needs water.”

 

“I--” Bittle starts, and then Bob says, “You’re a good kid, Eric. I’m happy Jack has you.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

“You know,” Shitty says. “You’re so different from when you first got here.”

 

“I am not,” Bitty says, indignant. “Even my hair has done a literal circle back to how it was when I got here last September.”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lardo says. “It’s been our pleasure to watch you grow into yourself.”

 

Bitty huffs, and Jack smiles. “I get it,” he says, leaning towards Bitty conspiratorily. “Sometimes it feels like everything’s changed but you, right?”

 

“Right,” Bitty says. “But if I’m different, then you are too.”

 

“Well, yeah,” Jack says. “As if I did all that work just to stay the same.”

  
  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Skype date,” Shitty says, and points at Jack. “I’m looking at you, Zimmermann. We agreed. Next Tuesday at 9.”

 

“Dude, I’m not gonna ditch you.”

 

“And you two,” Shitty says, turning to where Bitty is leaning his cheek against the top of Lardo’s head. “You two better not start thinking you’re too cool for me.”

 

“As if,” Lardo says. “We’re stuck with you two nerds so that we’ll have someone to bail us out of our student loans.”

 

"What she said," Bitty says, laughing.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

Imagine that there will be a day when Eric’s pain will not take up all the space inside him.

  


Whether we like to believe it or not, most of us get the things that we want.

  


 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

Jack’s mom says, “It was nice to see you again, sweetheart.”

 

“You too, Mrs. Zimmermann,” Bitty says, and returns her hug.

 

“C’mon, it’s Alicia, we’ve talked about this.”

 

“Sorry,” he says, as Jack laughs and says, “Mama, you’re freaking out Bittle’s Southern sensibilities.”

 

“Before you go,” Bittle says, pulling back from her arms. “I have a tupperware container for you and your husband. I’ll be fast.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Haus kitchen feels quiet, too clean and too still and not enough dishes in the sink.

 

Bitty means to grab the Ziploc container from the counter but the stillness of this space-- his holy ground in all of this--catches him wrong footed.

 

But then, of course, Jack says, “Bittle?” and startles Bitty out of his existential crisis about his kitchen.

 

“Jack,” he says, finally making a grab for the baking he’d done for Jack’s parents.

 

When he turns around, Jack is in his space, and he says, “I thought I could leave without--” His hands wrap around the tupperware of pastries in Bittle’s hands, pull them from his grasp and place them back on the counter. “I thought I didn’t need to, fuck, Bittle, can I just--”

 

“Yes,” Bittle says, and before he can move to reach for Jack, Jack’s mouth is pressed to his.

 

And Jack kisses like he does anything else: a determined ease slowed only by how tentative he can be; a confidence that falters only between the time it takes for him to exhale a shaky breath and inhale again. Jack kisses Bitty like it’s the only thing that matters, like his lips pressed Bitty’s jaw is the only important thing he’s ever done.

 

And like anything else Jack does, it feels desperate, import brought about in rushes that would mow down anyone half as strong.

 

Jack’s hands cradle Bittle face, his palms pressed into Bitty’s cheeks when he slows, presses a closed lipped kiss to Bitty’s lips before pulling back just enough to look him in the eye. Bittle breathes hard, panting into Jack’s mouth while looking back at him, dead in the eye.

 

Jack’s fingers move into Bittle’s hair, and he closes his eyes, rubs his nose along Bittle’s. “Jack,” Bitty says, and it comes out rough.

  


“I--” Jack stops, and closes the last inch of space between them by stepping forward the final few inches needed to press their entire fronts together.

 

“I would love you if you let me,” Bittle says. “I’d be fucking good at it.”

 

“I know,” Jack says, eyes still closed. His fingers tugs lightly at Bittle’s hair before his fingertips run softly along his scalp. “Don’t know what I did to deserve it.”

 

“But?”

 

“But,” Jack answers in tone. He kisses at Bitty’s forehead before opening his eyes, before running his thumbs softly over Bittle’s eyebrows. “It’d be too hard,” Jack says. “It wouldn’t be fair.”

 

Bitty fists the fabric of Jack’s shirt in his hands before kissing the corner of his mouth softly. When Jack kisses Bitty again, it’s softer, insistent but missing hunger. Jack pulls away to say, “I couldn’t handle ruining it.”

 

“Jack,” Bittle says, and the world seems clearer. He runs his fingers softly down the inside of Jack’s arm, covers Jack’s larger hands with his own. “It’d be okay.”

 

Kissing Jack Zimmermann is not the end of all things.

 

“But we should go back, I’m sure your parents want to get going.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Jack says.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

“You’re not off the hook,” Bitty says, letting go of Jack and slipping from his grip. He picks up his baking before heading out of the kitchen, Jack falling into step beside him. “And it’s not like you won’t know where I am.”

 

“My parents want me to invite you to Montreal in July. Canada day. I’ll be there for a few weeks. They told me to get my shit together.”

 

“Possibly I could be made available,” Bitty says. “I’ll have to talk to my mom about it.”

 

Jack hip checks Bitty as they make their way out to the drive way.

 

“Okay,” Jack says.

 

“Okay?”

 

“Yeah, okay? I’ll. I don’t know. I have to--just. I’ll text you, before our group skype, okay? I am sorry.”

 

“What for?” Bitty asks, and Jack whispers, “I hate starting things I can’t finish,” and then he blushes, as if he didn’t mean for the words to make their way out of his mouth.

 

“Oh,” Bitty says, then smiles. “I uhm. That’d be...probably an easy thing to fix. I think I could be convinced to forgive you.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

 

Imagine being in love with a beautiful boy.

 

This boy.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

Imagine, imagine.

 


	3. [spins wheel] in front of bad bob

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the anon prompt _jack and bitty kissing in front of: bad bob! an airport! kent! the ocean! any or all of the above!_  
>  i wish i had the brain power to squish all four of those things together. maybe one day. i hope this will suffice xo
> 
> (this is unbeta'd because i don't respect myself)

So here’s the thing. 

 

And Jack, originally, doesn’t think it’s  _a thing._  But, turns out, it is. A  _thing_ thing. A capital T Thing that Jack has worked pretty hard to avoid for most of his adult life.

 

The Thing is: Jack is ass over tea kettle for Bittle.

 

At first it was supposed to be meaningless, a soft crush spurred on by the freckles that litter Bittle’s shoulders and the bridge of his nose. It was supposed to be this warm, easy, stupid, not-real  _thing_  (that wasn’t A Thing) that only wormed its way into being because they lived in the same space. Jack thinks that if you see the soft parts of anyone, you could probably start to love them. And that’s what a lot of Jack’s senior year had been: Bittle singing in the shower; Bittle in his sweatpants and his hair a mess on Saturday mornings; Bittle, with his fucking freezing feet stuck under Jack’s thighs, squished beside Jack while they watch a movie. The other parts, too: Bittle spread too thin over midterm stress; Bittle getting better with taking hits after a handful of practices at 9 pm or 5 am; Bittle tearing up after skyping with his mom. There are so many  _things_  about Bittle that he wouldn’t have learned if they hadn’t been in the Haus together, but that doesn’t mean he thought it was A Thing.

 

But, it’s a certified Thing, Jack being a goner for Bittle.

 

And Jack couldn’t say what makes him do it, couldn’t pinpoint any specific moment or happenstance or shift of universal matter that changes it. Because there’s another Thing, and it was A Thing that Jack had thought was pretty permanent, as far as permanent things go. Not meaningless at all, not stupid and not warm and definitely not easy. 

 

That Thing is: Jack doesn’t want to be the first guy in the league to come out of the closet. 

 

But, as far as Things go, Jack apparently isn’t very good at being able to tell what stays and what fades away, can’t pin down the space between Never and Again. 

 

*

 

Jack spends a week unpacking boxes and arranging furniture in his new apartment. There’s a nice balcony, and there’s room for a little garden, if he can get his shit together about it. He’ll have to ask his mom about when to plant things. He has a week where he spends more of his own money in a span of a few days than he ever has before--buys a truck, takes three trips to ikea, signs his name on the dotted line for the roomy two bedroom that he has to call home. 

 

It takes Jack a week of running lonely errands to realize that the first Thing, the Bittle Thing, is actually that: A Thing. And Jack  _isn’t_ sure what does it--couldn’t say what changes between one snapchat to Bittle and the next--but it happens, because he sleeps on it and in the morning he calls his agent, gets him to find three tickets to their first game in Boston. He texts his mom and dad, tells them they have to be free to go to the game, texts Bittle a quick  _don’t make any plans for October 17._  

 

And it is A Thing, Jack knows absolutely, when Bittle responds,  _When did you get so mysterious, Mister Zimmermann?_ followed by a separate  _I’m all yours :)_

 

 _i’ll be in bos,_  Jack texts.  _we’re getting dinner w my prnts after the game. got u tix._

 

 _Jack!!!!_ Bittle sends back. Jack responds with a smiley-face but leaves it at that.

 

*

 

They have an off day the day after the game, between their game against the Bruins and their flight to Columbus. Jack gets permission from the coaching staff to fly on his own, mentions his dad and gets a smile from Dan, who claps Jack on the back. He arranges his flights with George, and she smiles, subdued and knowing, and he blushes. They don't exchange any words about it at all, really, but Jack still knows that she's got it figured out. 

 

Their bus gets into Boston at 11 am. They have a practice skate, and then they eat a massive team lunch. Smith sits with Jack, and they talk about their chances of winning by virtue of being faster than the brute force of the Bruins. Jack texts Bittle after lunch to say,  _headed 2 nap, won't be able 2 see u befre the game, but text me when ur there anyway?_

 

 _Sure_ , Bittle responds.  _Got off the phone with your dad ~an hour ago. Sorry if it's weird but the novelty of having his number in my phone might never go away._

 

 _see u soon :):):):)_ Jack sends.

 

 

*

 

Jack loses his nerve, a bit. They lose, but it was close, and Jack had a point, got an assist for sending a sweet tap right to Smith's tape. Still, he loses the thread of bravery that he'd had when he first cooked up this idiotic not-plan. 

 

And so, instead of anything grand, instead of anything sweet, instead of anything romantic, when he finds Bittle and his parents in the hallway outside the visitors locker room, he just hugs Bittle, and says, "Hey," instead of anything sweeping. 

 

Jack knows that all he would need is twenty seconds of insane courage, one minute of stupid bravery. Bittle hugs him back, says, "It's so nice to see you," into Jack's slightly shower-damp neck. He steps back, and moves to kiss his mom's cheek. His dad pats him on the back. 

 

Him and Bittle sit in the back seat of his parents' rental car, and his dad tells Jack about the media coming up to their seats. Jack's knee doesn't bounce, but his palms are sweaty. He wipes them on his slacks, and Bittle must notice, because he leans across the space between them and whispers, "I'm really proud of you." He leans back, but he puts his hand over Jack's on his knee, squeezes once, and pulls it away.

 

Jack just played a full game of hockey, but it's the soft skin of Bittle's hand over his knuckles--the reassuring pressure of his presence in Jack's space--that gets Jack's heart racing.

 

Still A Thing, then, even if Jack's being a chicken shit about it.

 

*

 

They eat at some place that his mom picked, and it's really too late for dinner, and Jack ate earlier, but he orders a chicken dish with a risotto side and extra steamed broccoli. It's good, but it doesn't take much of Jack's attention. They share a bottle of wine for the table, and that's good too, but all Jack can concentrate on is the feeling of Bittle's knee pressed into his under the table. He thinks it could be an accident, but when Bittle goes to the bathroom and then comes back, he sits closer to Jack in the booth, presses their thighs together. He smiles at Jack when he catches Jack looking at him, knocks his ankle into Jack's once when the server comes by to clear their plates. 

 

Jack leans back in the booth. His dad orders a cup of coffee, Bittle gets tea. Jack, warm with good food and buzzing off the tension he feels from where their bodies are touching, rests his arm along the back of the booth. Jack's parents drift into their own conversation, and Jack takes the chance to tap at where Bittle has his hands wrapped around his mug. 

 

"Thanks for coming," he says, quiet across the small space between them. 

 

"Thanks for bringing me," Bittle says, smiling up at him. It'd be easy, Jack thinks. To lean forward, to press his lips to Bittle's. He doesn't want to have to get back into the car with his parents, though, not with such a massive Thing left hanging there, this immense and heady emotion that has taken up more space in Jack than he ever intended. 

 

"Anytime," he says. His lips feel dry, and he licks them before biting the bottom one between his teeth. Bittle blinks at him, pink colour high on his cheeks. 

 

Bittle puts a bit more pressure into where their legs are touching before turning back to join Jack's parents in their conversation about the Canadian election.

 

 

*

 

They're all staying in the same hotel; it's something Jack figured out when he first bought the tickets, didn't want to make a big deal out of it all to his mom over FaceTime. They're checked in already, but Bittle's overnight bag is in the trunk of Jack's parents' rental car. He pulls the strap over his shoulder and they make the trip from car to the lobby to the elevator and to their rooms in relative silence. 

 

Jack and Bittle both say goodnight to Jack's parents. Their room is a few doors down, and they walk the last few feet in silence, but Jack feels like his blood is buzzing under his skin. Jack pulls the keycard from his wallet when they get to the door, but before he can swipe it, Bittle says, tentative and quiet, "Jack?"

 

"Yeah?" Jack asks, and it doesn't sound casual at all, and he stands in front of the door to their room, key card held tight in his shaking hand. He clears his throat, but doesn't know what else to say.

 

Bittle says, "Jack," again, this time with a bit more bite to it, and his hands touch gently at Jack's sides. He nudges Jack with the slightest pressure, and Jack turns to look at him. Jack can feel that his cheeks are pink, and he bites his lip when he meets Bittle's eye. "Can I just--" Bittle stops when Jack nods, and then Bittle is up on his tiptoes. He presses his lips to Jack's softly, the sweetest pressure Jack has ever felt. A high sound escapes Jack's chest, and then Bittle is pressing his whole body into Jack's, pressing Jack back against the door to their room. Jack, in his attempt to be brave about this one Thing, runs his tongue along Bittle's upper lip. His hands creep into Bittle's hair, and Bittle has his hands fisted in the labels of Jack's suit jacket. Bittle bites at Jack's lip, and Jack opens his mouth, lets Bittle take control of the kiss.

 

The sound of a weighted door swinging shut startles Jack, and Bittle jumps back from him. It takes Jack a second to realize that his dad is standing outside his own door, trying to swipe into the room while holding the ice bucket. The door keeps beeping, light flashing red. Jack says, "Card's upside down, papa."

 

His dad blushes, says, "Sorry boys, I just--" His mom opens the door from the inside, says, "What're you doi--" before Jack's dad is pushing her back into the room, and saying, "Night boys," before slamming the door shut.

 

"Jesus," Jack says. Bittle buries his face in his hands and starts to laugh. 

 

"I'm sorry," Bittle says, and Jack pulls Bittle's hands away from his face, and shurgs.

 

"I'm not," Jack says, and smiles. Talking to his parents about this is just one less Thing for Jack to worry about, now.

 

 

 


End file.
